


When Tomorrow Comes

by sal_si_puedes



Series: Suits Comment Fics [16]
Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: M/M, Panic Attacks, Season/Series 05, Season/Series 05 Spoilers, written before season 5 aired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-06 00:48:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4201506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sal_si_puedes/pseuds/sal_si_puedes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apparently, Harvey suffers from panic attacks. At least that's what season 5 spoilers tell us. Mike, of course, is there for him.</p><p> <i>Last night, while you were lying in my arms</i><br/><i>And I was wondering where you were</i><br/><i>You know you looked just like a baby</i><br/><i>Fast asleep in this dangerous world</i><br/><i>All the stars were shining brightly</i><br/><i>Just like a million years before</i><br/><i>And we were feeling very small</i><br/><i>Underneath the universe</i><br/><i>And you know that I'm gonna be the one</i><br/><i>Who'll be there</i><br/><i>when you need someone to depend upon</i><br/><i>When tomorrow comes</i><br/> </p><p>(lyrics, of course, by Eurythmics)</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Tomorrow Comes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BaronSamedi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaronSamedi/gifts), [Xenrae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenrae/gifts).



> I wrote this as a comment fic for [this gif set](http://sal-si-puedes.tumblr.com/post/122322347841).
> 
> This is for you, Myri (aka [baronsamediswife](http://baronsamediswife.tumblr.com/)), and for you, [Xenrae](http://xenrae.tumblr.com/), for talking me through this today. And thank you ever so much, Xen, for your wonderful, insightful and nevertheless very speedy beta!!! You are amazing!!!! <3 <3 <3
> 
> I am [sal-si-puedes](http://sal-si-puedes.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. Come and say "Hi!"!

"Okay,“ Mike says, sticking his head through the door to Harvey’s office. Harvey doesn’t even look up from his laptop and merely grunts noncommittally in response.

“I’m leaving.”

When Harvey still doesn’t look up, Mike shrugs and slips out of the door again. Even though it is already after ten p.m. he feels bad about leaving for the night while Harvey is obviously still buried knees-deep in case-work. But he is so tired he can’t even see straight anymore, let alone think, and Harvey prefers to be alone when he’s preparing for a trial anyway. Still, he worries his lower lip between his teeth on his way to the elevator, feeling vaguely like an asshole for not staying. 

He simply needs an hour of rest or so and then he thinks he will be able to work on the files in his ba—

The elevator is already three stories down when Mike remembers. Those files he intends to work on are still upstairs. In Harvey’s office. He barely manages to jump out of the elevator when the doors close on the 46th floor. Cursing under his breath he runs up the stairs and mentally prepares a witty reply to the snide remark Harvey is most certainly to bestow upon him once he walks into his office again, something about having a freak brain and being a complete loser at the same time, Mike is sure.

But when he barges into Harvey’s office, out of breath and his mouth already open to speak, he stops dead in his tracks.

Harvey is breathing at least as rapidly as he is. At least. Rapid, shallow breaths, and his face is pale and covered with a thin layer of sweat, glistening in the weak light of his desk lamp. He’s clutching his chest with one hand and the edge of the table with the other, his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth slightly open.

An immediate sense of danger grabs hold of Mike and he lets his bag drop to the floor right there and then and strides across the room to Harvey’s desk.

“Harvey,” he calls out and Harvey only squeezes his eyes shut even more. So Mike stops again, looking around helplessly. “Harvey,” he says again when Harvey’s breathing accelerates even more and a faint groan escapes Harvey’s lips. “What’s wrong? Are you in pain? Do you need me to—“

Harvey interrupts him by shaking his head rapidly. “No,” he pants, gripping the edge of the table harder. “It’s—“

A shiver runs through Harvey and another one and another until he’s almost constantly shaking. “I’m going to throw up,” he grunts, and before Mike knows what’s happening, Harvey is rushing past him, almost bumping into him and then into the meeting table and then into the glass wall on his way out. 

Mike quickly picks up his bag and tosses it onto the sofa before he follows Harvey, albeit a bit slower than Harvey’s urgent rush just a moment ago.

When Mike cautiously enters the bathroom, Harvey has just emerged from one of the stalls and the water is still flushing behind him. He’s leaning forward over the sink and he splashes water against his face with both his hands, still panting shallowly. His breathing hitches and he almost chokes on the water when he splashes his face again and he is as pale as a ghost, but what alarms Mike most is that his tie is just hanging down like that, that it’s getting wet, and that its tip is even dipping into the sink when Harvey bows down again to rinse his mouth.

Finally, Harvey comes up and Mike can see his face in the mirror, dark circles under his eyes and sunken, shadowy cheeks. His lips look dry despite the water and his eyes glisten oddly. Mike watches him loosening his tie with trembling fingers and then leaning forward and grabbing the edge of the sink.

Harvey stares at himself in the mirror, panting.

“Harvey,” Mike whispers and takes a step closer. “What—“

“Shit,” Harvey murmurs and closes his eyes when another shiver runs through his body. His hands close around the sink’s edge painfully hard and for a moment he holds his breath, his whole body tensing. When he starts breathing again, he is gasping for air and he tears at his tie again. “Shit,” he says again and finally manages to undo the knot. “I know what this is.”

“Is it something I should worry about?” Mike asks tentatively, taking another step towards Harvey. “I think I really should call—“

“No,” Harvey grunts and swallows thickly. “Nothing you have to worry about.” He tries to straighten his back and turn around but he flinches and almost collapses backwards against the sink. “Fuck.”

“Harvey, I’m—“ 

“Mike,” Harvey barks and in spite of his clearly poor bodily condition that one word, Mike’s name, sounds menacing. “I said no.” He staggers and turns around again, bracing himself against the sink. “I said I know what this is and you—“

He is interrupted by his own sharp hiss of pain and his hand fists into the fabric of his shirt almost of its own accord. 

“Is it something _you_ need to worry about?” Mike asks and Harvey nods, steadying himself again, his legs and arms trembling. 

“Yeah.”

Harvey greedily draws in another couple of gulps of air, murmuring something under his breath, over and over again.

“I’m not having a heart attack. It’s all right, I’m all right, I’m not having a heart attack, I’m not—“

Harvey’s breathing hitches again and he coughs and when he’s done coughing the speed with which he gasps for air accelerates even more. “I have to sit down,” he groans and pushes himself away from the sink, stumbling, and his legs almost give in twice on his short way across the room. He slumps against the wall behind the door and lets himself slide down the wall until he’s sitting on the ground. 

Mike crouches down next to him and reaches for his leg. “Harvey, you—“

“Oh shit,” Harvey whispers and his breathing becomes even more rapid, if that is at all possible. “I think I’m going to pass out.” He slams his hands down onto the cold granite floor and raises his chin a little. “Mike—“

“Okay, Harvey,” Mike reaches for Harvey’s shoulder and lowers himself down onto his knees. “Listen to me.” He tries to keep his voice as calm and steady as possible, lowering it a bit when Harvey flinches. “Harvey. Harvey. Come on. Breathe with me. Come on. Let out a slow, long breath, come on. Like this. Ouuuuuut—Harvey, breathe with me, long and slow, like this. Ouuuuuut—“

Finally, Harvey gives in and follows Mike’s pattern. Out for five seconds, hold for two, in for five and hold for two again. Repeat. Mike then guides Harvey through five normal cycles before another two rounds of five-two-five. When they’ve come to the end of the fifth round, a little bit of the tension leaves Harvey’s body and he nods slowly. 

“Okay.”

Mike holds on to his shoulder, though. Harvey still seems far from being okay.

“I’m okay, I’m okay...”

“Harvey, I think you’re having a—“

“Panic attack, yeah, I know,” Harvey whispers and draws in a sharp short breath. “Shit. This is—not good, I don’t—“

He reaches for Mike’s arm blindly and grabs hold of it so hard Mike is sure there will be bruises tomorrow.

After a while Harvey’s grip gradually loosens at least a little. “Sorry,” he mutters under his breath, his eyes still closed and his eyelids fluttering erratically. 

“I’m here,” Mike simply says and Harvey nods. Mike waits as time passes, watching Harvey struggling for composure from the corner of his eye. This takes so long, so long.

“I know that it’s not true,” Harvey finally whispers, still holding on to Mike’s arm as if it were a life raft. “But right now I think I’m going to die. I think I’m going to fuck up that trial tomorrow and it feels like I’m going crazy in here. I’m losing it and I think I’m going to die.” He takes another deep, shaky breath and the next word he speaks is barely audible. “Alone.”

 _Oh my god,_ Mike thinks and this is when the whole weight of what is happening here hits him full force. _How could you ever even_ think _—_ “Harvey—“

“I know that that’s not true, that it’s not real, but I can’t breathe and that’s so fucking te—“

That is the moment the door swings open and Mike is on his feet, blocking the way into the bathroom faster than he can even think of doing that.

“Out,” he orders briskly and Klyman actually flinches and takes a step backwards. But the next second he is almost in Mike’s face, he’s right there, fuming with anger and fighting off Mike’s attempt to slam the door shut with his flat palm against its surface.

“Who do you think you are to—“

“I said. Out.” Mike enunciates and takes a step forward himself, raising his chin. “Use the other one.”

For a moment it seems as if Klyman is going to argue but then he shrugs and turns around. “We’re going to talk about this, Mr. Ross,” he says and disappears into the darkness of the hallway.

Mike quickly closes the door again and leans back against it, exhaling shakily. 

“Who was that?”

Harvey’s voice is still breathless and the underlying notion of fear is painfully palpable in his words.

“Klyman,” Mike replies and closes his eyes.

“Did he see—“

“No.” Mike shakes his head and opens his eyes again, looking down at where Harvey is sitting. “No, his view was blocked.”

Harvey nods and lets his head fall back against the wall. 

Mike winces at the sound Harvey’s skull makes when it bumps against the concrete. That must have hurt.

“Thank god.”

“What do you need me to do?” Mike asks and Harvey bites his lips.

“Don’t leave.”

Mike simply nods, even though Harvey’s request, his _admission_ of sorts, hits him like a punch in the gut. It is so unlike Harvey, even now, and it causes his throat to tighten and his eyes to sting, and the only way he knows to respond to it is to sit down on the floor next to Harvey again. He waits. When Harvey’s breathing takes another turn for the worse and Mike can feel the other man tense up again next to him, he quietly rests his hand on Harvey’s upper thigh, a solid, heavy weight.

“My tree house,” Harvey mutters under his breath and Mike just nods. “When I was a kid. Just a kid.”

“Yeah.”

“Smells like wood. And old, dry leaves. Dust.”

“Yeah,” Mike says and nods. “Smells good.”

“Yeah, smells good,” Harvey echoes and takes a long, deep breath, holds it for two seconds and releases it again, slowly. “Really good.”

“Yeah,” Mike whispers and a small smile begins to curl his lips. “ _Really_ good.”

“The first time,” Harvey breaks the silence after several minutes of just breathing, “the first time something like this happened I was barely nine years old. My dad was touring with a band and my mother—she left. She just left one day and she didn’t come back for over three days. I wasn’t even nine years old then and Marcus—At first I was sure that she’d be back soon and then, after a while, I wasn’t, and after the second day—I didn’t know—I thought—“

He interrupts himself and shakes his head quickly. He still won’t open his eyes, still won’t look at Mike.

“I thought I had it under control. It’s been a long time since—“ He finally does open his eyes but still avoids eye contact. He stares at his hands in his lap instead.

“I am sorry you had to see this.”

“It’s okay,” Mike murmurs reassuringly and gives Harvey’s thigh a gentle squeeze with his fingers before he takes his hand away.

“No, it’s not,” Harvey mutters and shakes his head, still avoiding Mike’s eyes. “It’s really, really not.”

And this is when Mike knows that Harvey still is very far from being all right. Harvey would never, under any circumstances, say “really, really” – and _mean_ it, no mockery in his words whatsoever. 

So he stays there, just sitting next to Harvey quietly, the back of his hand and his knuckles casually touching the side of Harvey’s leg and his ears tuned to the sound of Harvey’s breathing. 

“Shit,” Harvey finally says and slowly runs his hands over his thighs. “My fingers are still numb.”

Mike gently nudges Harvey’s leg with the back of his hand and forces his mouth into another smile, just in case.

“You okay?”

Harvey takes a deep breath and nods. “Yeah.”

“Wanna get out of here?”

“Yeah,” Harvey says again and flexes his fingers. “A minute, though.”

“’kay.” Mike says and leans back against the wall, trying to breathe as steadily as possible. “Whatever you need.”

“Shit,” Harvey murmurs again and does that eyes-squeeze-head-shake thing again that Mike has seen so many times during the last thirty minutes.

“Does Donna know?” Mike enquires and turns his head towards the other man.

“No,” Harvey murmurs, blinking and rubbing his thighs with his hands once more. “Nobody does. Just my shrink. And now you.”

“You have a shrink?”

“Yeah,” Harvey replies, his voice still trembling ever so slightly. “When my father died—this got pretty bad so I had—I haven’t seen her in over five years.”

Harvey takes a deep breath before he speaks again.

“Anyway. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this. Ever.”

And just like that, the old Harvey is back. He straightens his back against the wall and when he finally locks eyes with Mike his jaw is tightly set and Mike watches how the partition in his eyes slowly goes up again.

“Sure,” Mike murmurs and struggles to his feet, holding his hand out for Harvey to grab it. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

Harvey nods and Mike is not surprised when Harvey doesn’t take his hand but steadies himself against the wall as he slowly rises to his feet. 

He lets Mike walk him back to his office, though, to collect his things, and he doesn’t even complain when Mike gets into the car with him once Ray has pulled up at the curb. 

He doesn’t say anything when Mike gets out of the car with him either nor when he walks through his lobby right behind him, one hand lightly, just very lightly, touching the small of his back.

“Fuck,” he says once the door to his condo closes behind him and Mike, and his shoulders sag. “I forgot how goddamn draining this shit is.”

He shrugs off his jacket and absentmindedly hands it to Mike, who is still, already, always right behind him, and he doesn’t complain while Mike waits in his bedroom while he brushes his teeth and washes his face. He merely raises his eyebrows when Mike is still there when he emerges from the bathroom, lingering at the fringes of his bedroom and his sight. 

He slips underneath the covers in his t-shirt and boxers, and when Mike smoothes the covers over him, when Mike actually tucks him in, he doesn’t say a word. 

Mike knows that tomorrow the old Harvey will be back for good. He knows that the tree house will be gone and that Harvey’s walls will be up again.

And he is grateful for that, in a way. For Harvey’s sake. And for his own. 

But he knows as well that nothing will ever be the same again for them. Not after this. Not after tonight. There is just no way to fully raise those walls ever again. And Mike knows that. He is aware. 

And he is grateful for that, as well.

For both their sakes.

“I’m here,” Mike whispers into the darkness of Harvey’s bedroom, listening to Harvey’s steady breathing as Harvey slowly slips into sleep.

And for a moment, Mike can’t think of any place he’d rather be.

 

~fin~


End file.
